Mr. Stein's Mysterious Ailment

There were no sudden bolts of light, but I knew that right in front of me was a miracle.

Late Sunday night, after a seemingly endless weekend on call, I got paged. I groaned when I saw the number. This was yet another patient in the ER.

An 82-year-old man, a patient of my partner's, had presented after two days of nausea, abdominal pain and bloating classic symptoms of small bowel obstruction. And indeed, the x-ray confirmed it.

"It's weird," the ER doctor said as she told me about it, "the only abdominal surgery he's had was an appendectomy -- decades ago." It was surprising; though small bowel obstructions are not uncommon, they are typically the result of scar tissue from major abdominal surgery. "And," the ER doctor continued, "he had a similar episode almost exactly one year ago that resolved on its own."

Small bowel obstructions are usually not life threatening, and the majority improve with minimal intervention. It was almost midnight and I was exhausted. I could have called in orders and seen the patient in the morning, but I wasn't quite sure I got the whole story, so I felt compelled to go in to the hospital.

I walked through the throbbing, frantic side of the ER into the quieter, low intensity side, and into Mr. Stein's room. With its glossy white walls and grayish linoleum flooring, the room seemed awash in an opalescent blush. In the bed lay Mr. Stein. A small man, he appeared dwarfed by the hospital bed. The grayish white of his hair and beard framed his face and caused him to look even more pale and fragile, as he stared at the ceiling with a furrowed frown.

A sheet covered his thin body, mounded over his distended abdomen and was tucked under his chin, where it seemed to meld with his long, flowing beard. The only contrast to the stark whiteness was his large black kippah perched precariously between his hair and the bed, and his piercing black eyes that followed me as I walked into the room.

He examined me with an ancient creased stare, and though he was shrunken and sallow, he exuded a strength that was somewhat imposing. It was only when I saw that tears glazed his eyes and crinkles of age cracked his down-turned lips did I feel less intimidated.

"Hello, doctor," he said in a European lilt.

Because it was late, I asked my usual questions about symptoms quickly. He answered in a perfunctory fashion -- monosyllabic. It seemed he had a second small bowel obstruction, oddly similar to the previous year, and was not at all interested in my questions.

Softly, I asked what happened to his family. In his first full sentence he said, "You hear of Auschwitz?"

When I started to try to ascertain why he had this unusual outcome yet again -- was there a complication during the appendectomy, or did he have another major surgery we didn't know about -- he seemed annoyed, his terse answers taking on a thicker accent, as if I were missing something. Wishing I had phoned in the orders, I continued on with his medications, allergies, other medical history. When I got to family history, he looked at me with narrowed eyes and went silent. Though bleary, I was intrigued. Softly, I asked what happened to his family.

In his first full sentence he said, "You hear of Auschwitz?" He focused on me and paused, as if deciding whether to go on.

Finally, in a distant low voice, he started. "We were all there -- my parents, brother and sister." He stopped, raised his wet, black pearl eyes upward as if seeing far beyond the speckled ceiling tiles, then looked back at me. "One day -- I remember it was a beautiful spring day, finally a little warm -- they lined us up. I was the only one in a different line."

He inhaled deeply and let out a little wheeze. "They shot them all," he said in a weak voice. "I had to watch as they shot them all."

"My beautiful mother … and sister…," he moaned, his voice singed with pain. "They were in the wrong line…" He trailed off, with his bowed head seeming to disappear into his beard.

He stared up at me, his dark eyes flashed. "How could they do this?" he growled. "Those evil monsters! My family never hurt anybody… they were just ordinary people... HOW COULD THEY DO THIS??"

Mr. Stein's eyes riveted mine, as if expecting an answer. I held my breath as he went on.

"It happened; I don't know the exact date, but sometime in mid-May, 1943." He exhaled. "It's been 62 years. For 50 years I couldn't even talk about it. And each year, in May, I get sick."

I looked at the calendar on the wall -- May 15. It began to make sense. He got the unexpected complication of small bowel obstruction not for any medical reason, but because his protoplasm ached. He had tried so long not to focus on his horrific past, but his cells remembered, his body remembered. And he got sick. Year after year.

"One year after that," he went on in a monotone, "I was released. I weighed 80 pounds and had TB. For two years I was in a hospital in Germany. I could barely raise my head. I wanted to die, but I didn't."

For him, alone and sick in that hospital, just waking up each morning was an act of defiance.

Now when he looked at me, I noticed the tears made his eyes shine. "I didn't."

And I understood. For him, alone and sick in that hospital, just waking up each morning was an act of defiance. To lift his head and look upward took incredible strength and faith. A belief that even though he was surrounded by horror and black, somewhere there was light. And life. And from out of his sick bed, he seized it.

He came to LA and became a shirt maker. Along the way he married, had five children, 49 grandchildren, and as of now, 24 great grandchildren.

When I heard that, I got chills, and though it was after one in the morning, suddenly I was very happy I had come in. This little man was a survivor, a treasure disguised as a frowning shirt maker with white hair and a frail body.

Though there were no bolts of light or flashes from the sky, in the midst of a vast sleeping city I knew that right in front of me was a miracle.

Mr. Stein continued. "And my grandkids, they are all good people. Isn't that what matters?" And finally, he smiled.

I smiled back at him and reveled in the whole story. Through the tears in my own eyes, he seemed much larger.

This ordinary man had won. With his life he triumphed over the Nazis. In a horrendous way they had taken everything from him. But, oh, how he got them back.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 17

(17)
marika Frankl,
February 23, 2011 5:55 AM

So many Mr. Steins among us! I am 79, a survivor myself. I was so blessed that my immediate family all survived. But many cousins, aunts uncles did not. Incidentally my father's name was Mr. Stein too. I was born Stein.

(16)
r,
February 21, 2011 1:49 PM

Dr. Yaris gift of spiritual insight is inspirational

Whenever I read one of her stories, I am touched and inspired. And all the more so when I remember that this wonderful dr with such sensitivity to her patients is also a dedicated wife and mother. Would that we could all learn from her to perceive spiritual lessons in all our daily activities. That's really living!

(15)
FranSiegel,
September 12, 2006 5:26 PM

very interesting. i received this from a cousin and was happy to be able to subscribe. i like reading your articles.

(14)
Miryam,
August 3, 2005 12:00 AM

Moving and Beautiful

Thank you for this story, it is VERY beautiful and moving. May the Almighty Keep blessing Mr. Stein.

(13)
Anonymous,
July 25, 2005 12:00 AM

Thank you for sending me the story of Mr. Stein. As I am rushing through the piled up e-mails, deleting most after skimming through them, Mr. Stein stopped me in my tracks. I printed his story for frequent reference as a reminder to stop when my heart tells me to take the time for what may at first seem routine. The doctor opened the door to discovering an unforgettable story that realigns our value systems as needed.

(12)
Anonymous,
July 23, 2005 12:00 AM

Beautiful

thank you so much to those who wrote this and published it. it was so beautiful and meaningful. i love the last line. such a gr8 message. thank you.

(11)
Murray Gorelick,
July 22, 2005 12:00 AM

It is very Toucihng

Thisstory should be preinted for the wholeworld to see that there are people who het their courage in manny different ways. This mann saw his family murdered by an evil people, yet he prosperd,He had five childern, which poduced 49 Grand Children, and 24 great grand chilren and there will be more . He should record this miracle so that the rest of his decendents wiouuld know what he had ti live through so that it will never happen again

(10)
Anonymous,
July 20, 2005 12:00 AM

One must check for physical obstruction any way.

I was moved to tears by this great, brave and humble man's story, and by the patience and compassion of the doctor. However, he still may have had a physical obstruction, tumor, scar tissue, either caused or worsened by his emotional pain. I hope the doctor still checked for this, as well as found a support group and proper therapist for him if the man would do this. I am a child of holocaust survivors, and they did not believe in seeing psychiatrists or psychologists, and were very private about their traumas. No one knew of post-traumatic stress in those terms, and there were not specific therapies for it. Seeing doctors for mental and emotional anguish held a great stigma. I don't know if they would have felt comfortable speaking to a rabbi, either. Since this man still experienced this pain for fifty years, whatever was going on in his life had not helped ease this recurrence of symptoms. The mind, body and soul are connected and involved in every ailment, and should be treated together. I pray for his increasing happiness and good health, and the same for the good doctor.

(9)
Anonymous,
July 18, 2005 12:00 AM

Beautiful! Very inspiring!

Thank you for sharing this, Dr. Yaris...It is refreshing to know that there are physicians with so much sensitivity.

(8)
andrea chester,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

such a terribly beautiful story

thank you... the story itself is remarkable, and God gave you a gift of words, so it could be told.

thank you.

(7)
Anonymous,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

I really enjoy Dr. Yaris' articles!!

This was a beautiful article. After reading this one, I looked up more articles by Dr. Yaris and enjoyed all the ones I read.
Thank you for writing and sharing your experiences and what you gained from them. Not everyone can see the silver lining, especially working in ER, but somehow Dr. Yaris takes it all and uses it to bring about inspiration.

(6)
Paul Bondi,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

One of God's,

What a sad,but inspiring story when we complain about anything we need to think of stories as this,and give us the strength to go on and do our daily chores. God will restore to him someday that which was taken away so violently.

(5)
debbie shapiro,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

beautiful

This was beautifully written, with tremendous sensitivity. The survivors among us are gradually disappearing, and it is up to us to internalize what they taught us. You did a beautiful job of portraying that message. Thank you.

(4)
anonymous,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

Protoplasm?

His protoplasm ached? Give me a break. Couldn't you say his SOUL ached? Also, you don't mention what treatment you prescribed for him. I'd have told him to get thee to a psychiatrist post-haste, preferably one who specializes in trauma/Holocaust survivors, etc. Anyway, thanks for the story. I had a similar experience when pregnant with my 3rd kid and my favorite grandma was dying. All those brilliant medical minds couldn't figure out that my pain was emotionally based and not actually in my gut. Glad you were able to help Mr. Stein.

(3)
Stan Hyman,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

Amazing Story

Mr. Stein the Shirtmaker's story has touched my soul!
He has triumped over the greatest evil the World has ever known. How many 'Shirtmakers' must there be with untold stories of bravy and triump?

(2)
Rachel,
July 17, 2005 12:00 AM

Life as the miracle

The one thing that they couldn't destroy was the legacy he will leave behind for future generations. It was tragic what happened to his family, but his family live on in his children. So he survived in more ways than one. What a remarkable man.

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!